Darkest Remnant
by Therebesilence
Summary: When one dies they expect some sort of rest, but the Divines think otherwise.
1. Prologue

**AN: Hello, welcome to my story. Before we begin I'd like to credit some for helping me with the story. Their name is Varus the Shadow, they helped flesh out this story and in addition to that to that they provided some motivational help too. Thank you.**

-(:)-

When one realizes that they're dying they usually fight their death with the force of a thousand soldiers. They refuse to die and claim that their death is somehow unfair or unjust. Me? I believe death is part of the Divines will. If I am to die then I die knowing I have done my duty for my allies. As such dying here, in this utter waste hole of a land, made me almost excited to die. I know it's wrong to think in such a way but when your life has been filled with both betrayal and loss, you long stop caring about certain things.

Thinking back however I realize that I have indeed failed to do my only job as a Crusader. I failed to protect my allies.

The Vestal, she was disillusioned. She was an outcast like me and was still bitter from her own betrayal. Thrown out by her own sisters due to her troubled past despite wanting to change herself for the better. Now all that remained of her was a bloodstain on the floor for she was consumed by some horrid beast.

The Highwayman, he was lost. He had lost his way in life and had gone to a life of a Highwayman to get away from whatever had troubled him. I had met him a year ago when we were hired by the Heir of this dreaded land to reclaim what the they had lost. He had been torn limb from limb by some unimaginable horror of the land.

The Plague Doctor, she was a disgrace. This was the simplest way to explain what she was. She had graduated with honor from her School and then threw away her hard work in the vain hope for finding the cure of the most contagious of diseases. Death. She had disgraced herself using the cadavers of officials, nobles, anything she get her hands on to use in her own twisted experiments. In a strange twist of karma the Necromancer of the this cursed land used her in his own unholy experiment.

I felt a shake and suddenly realized I was crying.

I was a failure.

So when I looked up to face of this unholy abomination in front of me I answered its unholy screech with sobbing and weakness.

Then the darkness came.

-(:)-

Then I opened my eyes

The world was blurry, my senses overloaded. I didn't know where I was or what had happened to me.

I tried to recall… anything but my memories are awash with nothing.

I mean I knew how to think, as evidenced by all of this… thinking, but I couldn't recall anything. I knew something had happened to me before I came to… wherever I am now but nothing came up. I had this strange feeling that I'd been somewhere before being, well, here.

Some vital piece of my memories was missing and I somehow felt relieved to be free of it as if I was carrying some heavy unknown burden.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a pair our arms picking me up and quickly holding me close to themselves.

Looking up I saw a women, her hair was just starting to grey, her face has lost that youthful touch but still held all of the kindness of a women 20 years her younger. She was humming a pleasant tune that somehow made me feel at ease.

Moving my small stubby arms up to her I made some sort of gurgle to get her attention.

She looked down and smiled letting one of my small hands grab a strand of stray hair.

"How my little Deegan doing? Good I hope." I replied with a happy gurgle to let her know I was content, she let out a light laugh before smiling, "Good it wouldn't be right for my precious Knight to be sad, now would it?" I responded with a little giggle of my own.

I got the feeling that I would like it here.


	2. The Pickpocket

It was raining. Again.

As much as I loved the village of Rote, it's always had a terrible problem with rain.

Shame too, as it's my tenth birthday, supposedly a festival was to be in town and as such I had quite a bit of lien to spend on said festival.

Sighing, I pull the strings on my hoodie tighter as to insulate me further from the freezing rain.

Passing by a ice cream shop, I look in and look at all the other kids with their parent either taking shelter from the rain or enjoying a frozen treat.

Seeing the other kids with their parents honestly made feel a pang of jealousy as my mother wasn't around often. Don't get me wrong I love her dearly but with her job as a Huntress I didn't get to see her very often. It didn't help that at age six she believed I was mature enough to take care of myself, though that was a problem I caused for myself.

I was… strange to say the least. I took to walking, talking, and just about every other normal human function within a year and a half of my life. By age three I was speaking like a fully grown man with complex sentence, I even started voicing my own thoughts on local politics to my mother.

To me this was all natural, to other people it was a sign that something was wrong with me and when you live in a small village people tend to hear about the weird kid who acts like and adult.

I sigh and press on eventually passing one of the many street urchins that lived in the town. His face hollow and sunken, obviously from not being able to get food on a consistent basis.

As I looked at the poor kid I felt a hand in my pocket. Turning around suddenly I surprised the pickpocket.

The boy was the same age as me, but shorter. His dark hair seemingly shaved by a rusty razor as it seemed patchy on the top with only the sides actually shaved. He was wearing a coat two sizes too big and a tightly wound red scarf around the lower half of his face to conceal his identity. Under the coat was a grimy grey button up shirt, a pair of tattered slacks most likely liberated from a trash can, and a pair of old leather boots.

Grabbing his hand my instincts took over and in one hardy tug I threw him to the ground and threw a punch. He deftly rolled away and my fist hit hard pavement causing skin to tear and bleed, he quickly got back up and grabbed my hoodie's hood and threw me into a nearby wall causing quite the headache and of course more bleeding.

Growling I quickly turned around and threw a punch my fist meeting his face with a loud smack and he staggered back. Before I hit him again a sudden feeling stops me.

Something about him was eerily familiar.

Then a sudden sharp pain lodged itself in my skull and I… remembered something.

 _"Deegan, this is Bayard. He's a mercenary I assigned to help take back my land. I suggest you get to know him."_

 _"Why should I my lord? He's liable to die within two days of entering this Estate if your Uncle's letter means anything."_

 _"I'll have you know I can easily kill you and your fucking Lord in three seconds you shiny headed ass."_

 _"So the mercenary has some bark, maybe he'll be useful after all."_

The memory came sudden and I felt sick. Resisting the urge to vomit I quickly take a deep breath and push the sick down.

Looking to the pickpocket I saw the same look of nostalgia before he quickly ran into an alleyway and emptied out his stomach.

Waiting I thought back on the memory. The faces were blurry but the outfits were crystal clear. The other man, Bayard was wearing what the pickpocket was wearing.

I took a seat on the curb, everyone else seemed to have run off when the fight started so at least I didn't have eyes leering at me. Then I heard steps behind me.

Turning around the pickpocket was behind me his red scarf pulled down allowing me a good look at his face. It seemed well fleshed out, obviously his pickpocketing was working out for him as he didn't look like he'd ever missed a meal.

An awkward silence lingered over us.

"You fight well." The pickpocket says, taking a seat next to me.

"You do too." I responded dispassionately.

Another awkward silence.

"Did you get the flashback too? That weird memory or something."

I nod.

"What's your name?" The Pickpockets asks quirking an eyebrow at me.

"Deegan, you?" I answer fidgeting with the strings on my hoodie.

"Bayard." He responds.

"We knew each other at some point, didn't we." I asked, phrasing it as more of a statement then a question.

"Maybe? I honestly don't know." Bayard shrugs, "but if the memory is anything to go by we did at some point, but it didn't look like we were on good terms." Looking to me he gives me a lopsided grin, "So what are you going to do now?"

I cast a sideways look to him.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" I ask, answering a question with another question.

He chuckles, "Sure, why not."


End file.
